Saturday, August 05, 2006

Spam poetry

I get a lot of spam, that I block with Mailwasher pro. Most of it I delete instantly. But this one caught my eye. It had a Beat Poetry quality (and a bit of Shelley). So I editted it (punctuation mostly). Here it is:

Outfitted at San Diego and came over the mountain trail through El Campo,
Why had Dismukes been compelled to come back to the desert?
If he had any selfishness in his great heart, it had been to gloat over the lonely places by himself.
‘I got to have a name for throwin’ gold around.’
He watched burros and driver grow larger and clearer.
Adam always asked for news of Charley Jim, usually to be disappointed.
Even as Adam looked, the condor pitched off the crag and spread his enormous wings.
Nevertheless, Adam could never be sure in his heart that Dismukes would find what he sought.
Nevertheless, Adam could never be sure in his heart that Dismukes would find what he sought.
Even as Adam looked, the condor pitched off the crag and spread his enormous wings.
They were certainly not actuated by a feeling for some nameless thing. Those words of child wisdom sowed in Adam the seed of a terrible revolt.
Dismukes had, or imagined he had, the need to seek gold.
‘I go to Death Valley’, he continued, slowly, in his deep voice.
‘That New York is as near hell as I ever got.’
Never, in all the years, had this rapture faded.
‘I didn’t build the church or set out a park for the village of my boyhood.’
‘Comrade, take the story of my life to heart’, added Dismukes. ‘I got to have a name for throwin’ gold around.’
Beyond the oasis, some distance up the canyon, was a dense growth of mesquite and other brush.
‘All this travel idea, seein’ and learnin’ an doin’ changed so that it was hateful.’

It was spam. Spam poetry. Not bad actually.



Cost of the War in Iraq so far
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Organism Intended for Nocturnal Galactic Observation

How long could you survive in the vacuum of space?